


A Helping Hand

by kkismygod



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anakin is a good boyfriend, Broken Bone, F/M, Gentle Sex, Hurt, Injury, Slow Sex, Smut, Soft Anakin Skywalker, Sweet Sex, Whump, anakin fluff, anakin smut, anakin whump, reader gets hurt, soft dom anakin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28041639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkismygod/pseuds/kkismygod
Summary: Reader hurts her arm during a mission, and Anakin helps her out with it in more ways than one ;)
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 95





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> first half is whump, second half is smut. enjoy babies <3

At first, you thought you had just slept on it weird. 

The pain had come out of nowhere one day, when you went to go throw your knife at the dummy’s head like usual. A sudden burst of fire erupted from your wrist, and the knife clattered to the floor as you cradled your arm to your chest. You rolled your wrist a couple times, willing the ache to go away. You thought you might have thrown the knife at an odd angle, and maybe sprained your wrist a little from exertion. You picked up your knife and resumed, but a constant sparking pain remained. 

An injured wrist wasn’t good-- especially since that was your good arm, your knife-throwing arm. That was your talent, after all; your skills were so precise, the Republic Army recruited you to help out in the war. You were thrust into the thick of things with the clones, serving alongside the Jedi Generals, which was how you met Anakin. Without your arm, you were useless.

You set aside time every night to ice it, and when that didn’t help, you switched to soaking it in warm water and stretching it. When there was no improvement after a week, you debated going to see someone for it. It certainly didn’t help that you were using it every day, training like normal and using it for daily activities. Twisting or bending your wrist in any way sent shooting sparks of pain up your arm, but you managed to hide it around everyone… including Anakin.

It’s not that you didn’t want help-- you just didn’t need it. You had seen clones blown to bits by blaster cannons in battle, members of the Republic Army drag themselves up a bank of debris with two broken legs to continue shooting at Separatist droids, friends that served alongside you shot down fighting until their last breath. You would hate yourself forever if you made a fuss out of a simple sprained wrist.

You were a little surprised when Anakin didn’t catch on, honestly. You began switching to your other hand to complete daily tasks, and you were clumsier and slower because of it. But Anakin was so bogged down by current war efforts you barely had time to see each other, and when you did, it was very quickly just in passing. He had other things to worry about than you, and you were okay with that. However, it didn’t stop the burst of excitement after receiving the order that deployed you to Ecadus-Z, a moon off the planet Leona, where a grand Separatist droid factory was in the making and had to be destroyed-- the same mission Anakin was being deployed on as well.

You were grateful for the time you would get to spend together, even if it was in the midst of a battle. But beggars can’t be choosers, so you met him at the transport ship in the starfighter bay bright and early the day of departure. 

He was just as happy to see you, and you sat together in the cabin on the way to Ecadus-Z. It was hard holding yourself back, as it had been far too long since you had gotten to be together alone. As in, really  _ be  _ together. You looked forward to when you got back, as the Council was talking about giving Anakin a short break.

For now, you felt content just being by his side-- even if most of the 501st was there as well.

Once the pilot came over the coms saying you were about to touch down, everyone got out of their seats and began to ready themselves for battle. You would be dropped off in the thick of battle, so you had to come out running if you wanted to make it. 

You slung the bag of explosives over your shoulder and clipped your belt around your waist, making sure you had all of your knives, as well as one already clasped in each of your fists. The ache of your bad wrist was dulled by the adrenaline coursing through your veins as the transport ship shuttered, scraping the ground, the clones bringing their blasters to their shoulders. Explosions and screams of dying clones could be heard outside, and Anakin activated his lightsaber, looking at you.

“See you on the other side.”

The doors opened, light spilling into the cabin. You didn’t think, just ran, and prayed with everything in your heart that you  _ would  _ see Anakin after this was all said and done. That you would both get out alive, and that his sidelong glance in the transport ship wasn’t the last you would see of him.

Thoughts like that were only a distraction. You pushed them to the furthest corners of your mind, zigzagging around blaster shots as you made your way to the factory. Your job was to plant the bombs all around the factory as Anakin and his troops cleared the way for you, and then you would meet at the bank of the surrounding river where you would watch the factory go up in flames from a distance. There, Republic ships would be waiting to take you back to Coruscant.

With that goal in your mind, you made it past the Dead Zone in a flat out sprint-- the space between Republic warships and the Separatist factory, where both sides met in a constant spray of fire. You jumped over fallen clones and coughed smoke out of your lungs, making it to the factory in one piece. You used one of your bombs to blow a hole in the east wall, bypassing the entrance where the blaster-fire was heaviest.

Of course, you climbed through the hole in the wall only to be met with a group of freshly manufactured droids. Your knife buried itself in the closest droid's head without hesitation, followed by another and another. The droids dropped to the ground around you like ants, a single blaster shot missing you by an inch. Your arm screamed with each snap of your wrist, but you pushed through the pain as you yanked your steel blades out of the metal of the droids, planting bombs as you hurried along the hallway.

This is the way it went for a while, steadying yourself against the walls as blaster-cannons shook the ground outside, sticking bombs to the structure every few feet, and running into the occasional group of droids that you took out in a similar way to the first batch.

By the time you finished the east wing and were heading to the south, your wrist was pounding with a vengeance. Every step travelled up your arm, intensifying the pain to the point where it was becoming overwhelming-- distracting. You secured another bomb to the wall, but your grasp on the other ones in your bad arm failed, and scattered all over the ground. You cursed and chased them around the hall, picking them up and shoving them back into your bag. 

As you reached the last one, something caught hold of your arm, yanking you forward. You landed on the ground, right on top of that arm, and you were sure you could hear something pop. You cried out in agony as white hot pain blinded your senses, rolling on the ground as tears were forced out of your eyes. A blaster shot skimmed your shoulder, and you used your non-injured arm to send a knife flying in the droids direction from your place on the ground. 

The throw was off. It hit the droid on the head with the butt of the knife, clinking off and clattering to the ground uselessly. You rolled to the side as another shot missed you by a hair, sweeping the droids legs out from underneath. You grasped its blaster in your uninjured hand, but it fought back, and you forced yourself to use your bad arm to join the other as you turned the blaster in on itself, shooting its head off. 

Gasping in pain, you allowed yourself to stumble backward until you hit the wall, sliding to the ground. Your breathing thickened as you assessed the damage, realizing just how bad the damage had gotten. Your entire arm was on fire, from your shoulder to the tips of your fingers. Angry red and purple splotches bloomed from the place you fell on it, swelling to the size of a baseball. You tried to roll your wrist, stretch it out, but even the slightest movement sent searing bursts of lightning through you, unwelcome tears pricking at your eyes. 

You blinked your sight clear, yanking the blaster from the droids grasp and hooking it into your belt before heading off again. You can’t believe the damn thing had  _ grabbed  _ you. Now, your arm was hurt to the point where you couldn’t ignore it. You clutched your wrist to your chest as you stuck more bombs to the walls, finishing off the south wing and heading toward the west wing. You could hear commotion from far away, and prepared yourself for a mess.

All hell had broken loose. There was barely a west wing to speak of anymore, as the walls had been blown out and droids and clones were fighting elbow to elbow within the carcass of the hall. You were sure that’s where all the explosions had come from, and now you weren’t sure where to even put the rest of the bombs. 

A blaster shot landed between your feet, kicking debris up into your eyes. You wrenched yourself out of your standstill, unclasping the blaster from your belt and dropping droids as you hurried to the blue light at the end of the hall. Anakin was being swarmed with droids, dozens of them targeting him from every direction. He was deflecting the shots sent toward him at lightning speed, but you knew he couldn’t keep it up forever. He sent a force pulse out, knocking the droids back into each other, but more replaced them.

The clones were preoccupied with their own battles, and no one was coming to the General’s aid. You fought your way to him, heart pounding in your ears, the pain in your arm pulsing with each beat. If something happened to Anakin before you could reach him--

“Y/n, no!” Anakin caught your eye from behind the swarm. He waved you back. “Don’t worry about me, finish the mission!”

He ducked right before a blast shot could catch him in the head, slashing away at the droids. They crumpled before him in masses, but there were so many. Your blaster shots joined his saber, crippling the droids in heaps around you. In the commotion, the blaster got knocked out of your hands, so you had to go back to your knives. It hurt beyond anything comparable, but you grit your teeth and forced yourself to throw the knives from your injured arm. There was barely any thinking put into it-- you’d rather go through this pain now than deal with a future without Anakin.

You were slow and clumsy, and quite honestly you were doing awful. Only about half of your throws did any damage, and your vision was beginning to spot with pain. Not to mention, your eyes were clouded with tears and smoke, so even if you could throw right, you couldn’t see in order to do so. You lashed out at random, setting knives loose in every direction, hoping they would provide at least  _ some  _ help. As you reached the end of your supply of knives, you couldn’t help but feel like you were failing Anakin. He needed help, but you were too weak to do anything. 

A droid’s arm caught on the bag around your shoulder, and you cried out, crumpling to the ground against your will. The pain was making you nauseous, and your vision swam as you forced yourself to breath. You could feel Anakin’s panic and fury as he sent another pulsing wave around him, droids flying back in every direction including the one that had gotten caught on you. Broken and splintered bits of droid whizzed past you as they collided with each other. The bombs from your bag had spilt out all around you again, when suddenly through your swimming head, you had an idea.

You scrambled to set each bomb to manual detonation, and then sent them flying into the crowds gathered around Anakin. They exploded, knocking dozens out at a time. You sent them forward, one after another, until you ran out and the pulsing in your arm had you clutching at your wrist in vain, praying for  _ something  _ to relieve the pain.

As the dust settled, you saw the blue light disappear. Anakin appeared from out of the smoke, covered in ash and dust. A few new cuts on his face bled freely, but he ignored them as he knelt beside you.

“What was that all about?” he scanned your body, deciding whether or not to move you. You couldn’t tell if he was angry or concerned, and the thought of him being unhappy with you was paralyzing. You had tried so hard, and you knew it wasn’t enough. Your arm had messed everything up, but at this point the pain outweighed any fears you had, and you really just needed help.

“I’m sorry Anakin, I hurt my arm and I think it’s really bad. I didn’t mean to mess up, I’m sorry--,” you choked. Anakin didn’t wait for you to finish before he was pulling you to your feet, a new wave of blaster shots speeding past your heads, and you realized he was trying to get you out of the line of fire. 

He supported most of your weight with his flesh arm, reactivating and deflecting blaster shots with his lightsaber in the other. You stumbled alongside him, legs ready to give out again at any moment. You’re sure that without his help, you wouldn’t have made it out.

As soon as you breached the Dead Zone, Anakin reached for his com and ordered the 501st back to the ships. He ushered you into the first one you saw, a simple model of a Republic cruiser, and helped you into the passenger’s chair before standing before the window, surveying the damage outside. 

Hands clasped behind his back, he stood in silence before the window for a long while. Your arm screamed at you, but you watched from your place in the seat as a swarm of clones broke out of the smoke from the droid factory, trickling into transport ships and taking off into the air. Anakin waited until he got word from Rex that everyone was out, and then reached for the detonator in his belt. With the press of a button, the entire factory as well as all of the droids inside erupted in flame, the explosion mushrooming up and out. You shielded your eyes from the brightness of the fire, shaking in your seat as the force of the explosion rattled the cruiser. 

Anakin didn’t stick around to watch. He got in the pilot’s seat, lifting the cruiser into the air and out into space. Once he was sure you were safe, surrounded by stars and darkness, he turned to you.

His face was grim, tired, and covered in blood and ash. He paid it no mind as he extended his arm out to you, wordlessy requesting your injured wrist. 

You hoped he wouldn’t notice its trembling as you forced yourself to release it from your death-grasp, the one that had sort of stuck to your chest as you ran through the Dead Zone with him. Fireworks erupted behind your eyes as your wrist made contact with his gloved hand. You’re sure he was trying his hardest to be gentle, especially while holding it in his metal hand, but any point of contact was going to hurt like a bitch.

You gnawed at your bottom lip as he carefully turned it this way and that, assessing the damage. His face was drawn down in concentration, that same angry-concerned pout on his face sparking a fear in the pit of your stomach. Was he mad at you?

He brought his other hand up, meaning to skim his fingers over the swelling of your wrist to gage your response. 

“ _ Don’t touch it _ \--” you snatched your wrist back to your chest, shrinking away from his touch. 

“That bad?” Anakin sighed quietly, meeting your eyes for the first time. Your lip wobbled as you lowered your head in shame. 

“I’m sorry.”

You felt his hand come up to cradle your cheek, rubbing some dirt away with his thumb. His voice was soft. “You have nothing to be sorry for; it’s not your fault. Just let me see what’s wrong with it.”

He reached for you again, but you flinched away.

“I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Your trembling was noticeable this time as you lowered your wrist into his waiting hand again. He gently took each finger and wiggled them, asking if it hurt each time. You bit back your whimpers, hitching your breath sharply as sparks of pain travelled up your arm with each movement. He let go and asked if you could make a fist, but even that was too excruciating. 

You desperately blinked the new tears out of your eyes. It was beginning to annoy you, but you couldn’t help it. The ugly look of your wrist sat deranged and pathetic in Anakin’s gentle palm, and you could see the bad news in his eyes.

Yup. Definitely broken.

“How did all this happen?” he reached behind you to grab an emergency blanket from the shelf. He wrapped your arm in it and then carefully set it back on your lap. Then, he got to work peeling back the shirt from your shoulder where the blaster had skimmed you.

“My shoulder, I got shot,” you admitted, wincing as he pulled a bit of cloth back that was stuck to dried blood. “My wrist… well it’s been hurting for a while. But then a droid pulled on my arm and I fell on top of it.”

Anakin pulled back to look at you. “It’s been hurting for a while? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“I had it under control.”

He sighed again, fingertips ghosting over the skin of your shoulder. 

“You got burned pretty bad, but it’s nothing some bacta can’t fix,” he said. His voice was reserved again, eyes not meeting yours. “The wrist, well, that’ll be a different story.”

“You’re mad at me.”

He was quiet, looking at the bundled wrist in your lap. You could see the conflict in his eyes-- he wanted to be mad, but he didn’t want to direct it toward you. He was searching for a way to figure out in his own head before saying something to you that he didn’t mean, something he’d regret.

“I’m not mad,” he chose his words carefully, then shook his head. “I just… I told you to leave me.”

“How could I have? You wouldn’t have left me if the roles were switched.”

“It’s different.”

“How is it different?” Anakin’s responding gaze was weary. You both knew what he wanted to say, but he knew it would hurt you. “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can,” he tucked some flyaway hairs behind your ear, letting his hand linger. “Let’s just drop this. I don’t want to argue.”

“As long as you’re not mad,” you made him promise.

“I’m not mad at you.”

You didn’t miss the last part he added. ‘At you.’ Of course, he’d be directing this at himself. You could see the guilt in his eyes, but it didn’t make any sense.  _ You  _ had chosen to stay behind and help him fight the droids off, and it was  _ you  _ who had broken your own damn wrist. In fact, he had saved your life today when he dragged you out of the crossfire. He had nothing to be guilty for, but you knew he was beating himself up for not doing more, for not getting to you faster, for not noticing your pain. 

“I’m not mad at you, either.” If your wrist wasn’t a huge site of concern, you would have hugged him. For now, you settled with gripping his flesh hand in yours and squeezing. He gave you the tiniest smile, and then returned his focus to piloting.


	2. Chapter 2

Anakin was right. Your shoulder was healed with a bit of bacta, but your wrist-- for lack of better terms-- was fucked. By the time you had made it to the infirmary in the Jedi temple, your fingers were going numb and you had no motion at all in your wrist. Not that you had any motivation to move it.

Anakin was forced to stay in the waiting room as you got x-rayed and treated… which included setting the broken bones back in place. You were thankful he didn’t have to see that. After you were let loose, Anakin brought you back to his and helped you wash up. He even cooked for you and made you a mug of tea while you lounged in his bed, loopy from pain meds, resting your newly casted arm on a pillow. 

In the days directly after, you were a crabby mess. The council had not, in fact, decided to give Anakin a break, and he was sent back into battle only a day later. You had to come to terms with the fact that you were going to take a while to heal, which meant you were effectively useless to the Republic army until you were all better. The realization was like a blow to the chest-- you would take months to heal fully. What were you supposed to do until then?

You blew off some steam by focusing your efforts on training your uninjured hand to be able to throw. It should have been something you had worked on before, but your injured arm had been so good at it, there was no need. Now, you learned your lesson and began training your non-dominant hand to be just as good.

There was another reason you were in a terrible mood. It had been far too long since you had blown off steam in… other ways. Before recent, Anakin hadn’t been as busy, so he took care of you. Usually it wasn’t a problem when he was gone because you could just do it yourself. But ever since your wrist started hurting, you haven't been able to satisfy yourself. It had been weeks, and the clunky cast on your wrist reminded you that there were still months to go. 

Anakin came back from his most recent mission during the last few hours of the afternoon. He had been gone for over a week, and you missed him terribly. When he came through the door, you expected him to be exhausted, covered in dirt and debris, and begging for some food. However, he opened the door to find you getting dressed from your shower, his leather armor perfectly clean and a bright smile on his face.

You wanted to say something, but he beat you to it.

“Good news,” he shrugged his robe off, discarding it on a chair before immediately coming and wrapping you in his arms. “The Council gave me a whole week off.”

You squeezed him as hard as you could, the cast on your injured arm keeping you from holding him to your full potential. You breathed in his scent, closing your eyes as you felt his chest rise and fall with every breath. Wordlessly, you pulled at him to get on the bed, and he took the hint. You stayed pressed against each other as he settled onto his back, and you buried yourself into his chest. Your cast hung off to the side awkwardly.

“How’s your arm doing?” he spoke into your hair, rubbing your back.

“Doesn’t matter,” your cheek was squished against his chest. “You’re back.”

His body shook with laughter beneath you. “But is it feeling any better?”

“Still broken.”

“Have you been icing it?”

“Every day.”

“Taking your pain meds?”

“Occasionally.”

“Thinking of me?”

You hugged him tighter to you. “Always.”

He sighed contently, hand dragging soothing lines up and down your back. Unfortunately, with the way you were laying on him, his leg was slotted between yours. You wanted to relax and enjoy this peaceful moment being alone with him for the first time in weeks, but there were other needs that were taking over the forefront of your mind.

You shifted your hips, hoping he wouldn’t notice your movement as you rubbed against him. You just needed some sort of friction, the blood in your veins becoming hot as you felt the first sparks of pleasure in weeks. If Anakin hadn’t noticed your movement, he did notice the color now staining your cheeks.

“Something wrong?” he pulled your chin up to look at him.

You froze. “Not at all.”

“Really?” the hand on your back shifted to grip onto your hip, pushing you against his leg.Your eyes fluttered closed at the eruption of pleasure, giving you away. “That’s what I thought.”

His tone dropped a decibel, words dripping from his mouth like honey. That was always one of your favorite things about him-- the slow, smooth way he spoke. He could do nothing but whisper in your ear, and you’d be all ready for him.

“I missed you,” you responded truthfully, then looked to your casted arm. “I-I haven’t been able to…”

He cocked an eyebrow at you, smirking as the pieces instantly clicked. “Oh, you poor thing,” his hand travelled from your hip and between your legs, applying the gentlest pressure over your underwear. You shivered as he traced slow circles into your most sensitive spot, closing your eyes again and leaning into his touch. He kept his hand under your chin, forcing you to face him.

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” he remarked. “Good thing we have a whole week to catch up.”

You balled the robes under his leather armor in your fist, squeezing at his shoulder for purchase. He let go of your chin and moved his hand to your neck, bringing you down so he could kiss you. 

It was sweet; a slow, gentle kiss that mirrored what he was doing to you below. You needed him to go faster, but he seemed content with this relaxed pace. He was teasing you, you knew it, but you were afraid that if you called him out on it he’d draw it out for even longer.

You began shifting your hips to meet his fingers, grinding yourself against him. Your body sang like a live wire as he deepened the kiss, slowly tasting you. The deliberate movement of his tongue against yours had you pooling in your panties, sighing into the kiss.

You needed your underwear off. Now. You sacrifice your good hand from his shoulder to reach down, but it was harder than expected to shift them down your legs.

“What are you doing?” he mumbled against your lips. “Oh.”

He chuckled deeply at your failed attempt to rid yourself of your underwear, pulling them the rest of the way himself. “This better?” he breathed, fingers returning to massage deep circles into you. 

You moaned in answer, rocking your hips in time with his movements. He pressed quick kisses into the delicate skin of your neck, slowly building you up with his fingers until you were pretty sure you were dripping onto his Jedi uniform. You pushed aside every instinct telling you to continue and sat up, pulling at his belt.

He paused with his fingers still against you, watching you struggle with his belt for a moment. You pulled at the straps, but it was hard to undo with just one hand. He watched your face grow redder and redder, waiting for you to ask for help.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” you admitted quietly. 

He caressed your hot cheek with the back of his finger, and then removed his hands from you so he could take off his own belt. “Is there anything else I can help with?”

You ignored his teasing and tugged at the leather armor. “This needs to go. And the shirt under it.” 

Anakin steadied you on him with a hand to your hip, sitting up so he could shrug off the leather armor and robes underneath. Watching him undress before you, you wished more than anything that you could drag your hands down his chest, feel the hard muscle of his abdomen beneath your palms--  _ both  _ of them. But your casted arm still hung by your side, pathetic and burdensome. 

You swung your leg off of him so that you were kneeling beside him on the bed. He frowned, questioning what you were doing.

“I’m making a mess on you,” you gave a pointed leg to where you had been positioned over his leg.

“It’s no matter,” he brought you back to him for another kiss. “I can deal with a little mess.”

He trapped you beneath him, his arms on either side of you as he licked into your mouth again. You met his movements halfway, responding in earnest. Your new position allowed you to wrap an arm around his neck, and you lifted your casted arm to do the same, but hesitated. You didn’t want the hard material to hurt him, but it would be awkward if you just let it lie limply at your side.

He answered your silent debate by lifting the elbow of your injured arm, placing it around his neck like you wanted. Your chest swelled with warmth and you rolled your hips against his, searching for the feeling that could satisfy your ache. You used your knees to push his pants over his hips, and he removed them the rest of the way, kissing down your neck again. 

This time he didn’t stop, hands slipping under your shirt and bunching it up around your neck as he sucked wet kisses into the flesh of your breasts. You ran your good hand through his hair, watching the messy curls flop back down over his forehead. He smiled at you crookedly before ducking back down, lips marking a trail down your stomach, across your hips, to the inside of your thighs. His fingers dug into the skin there, pulling you open for him so he could taste the arousal that was waiting for him.

The feeling of him never got old. You bit the skin of your good arm in your mouth, head rolling back into the pillow. It  _ had  _ been far too long since you’d done this. His tongue felt like heaven, massaging you just right as he licked and kissed your sensitive bud. He wasted no time with teasing you, thankfully, as he forced you to come undone beneath him. 

It was embarrassing how fast you came close to finishing. Your legs tensed up around his head, and he held you open as he kissed deeper into you. Your moans bounced off the walls, uncontrollable as he kept up his sweet torture. The lava was building up in your veins, just about to burst, when he pulled back.

“You look so pretty,” he groaned, replacing his mouth with his hand. He spread your wetness around with his fingers, dipping inside you with one and then another, working you open slowly. He watched himself do it, his gaze on you focused on the way his fingers disappeared in and out of you. You don’t know why it made you bashful, but you cupped his jaw with your good hand, pulling him up so you could clean yourself off of his lips. 

You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, nibbling on it as you reached down again to stroke the hard length of him in your palm. He pressed you back into the pillow, kissing you hard, thrusting into your hand in time with his fingers inside of you. You clenched around him, wanting nothing more than to be filled to the brim with his cock.

You positioned him against your wet folds, hinting at what you wanted, but he wouldn’t move his fingers. Instead he dug deeper, curling his wrist just right so he could hit the place that made you lose control. You broke away from the kiss to gasp, hand tightening around his length.

“Fuck,” he murmured, lips closing over yours again. He swallowed your whimpers and when you realized he wasn’t going to let up, you settled for rubbing the head of him over your clit. Your ecstasy was approaching again, he could feel the vibrations of your moans growing louder and louder. 

When he finally let you sink his length into you, it was like stepping into a warm bath on a rainy day. You were so wet and so ready, you opened up for him effortlessly, walls squeezing excitedly around him. He buried his face into your neck, breath hot as he marked your skin up. He made sure to be cautious of where you had been shot, skimming his lips over the sensitive skin of your shoulder.

Your bodies were pressed against each other at every point, not a single space left between you two. He buried himself deep inside you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he rocked in and out. It was slow and sweet and careful, yet satisfying all the same. You were both content with this, just wanting to be together and feel each other. You kept Anakin’s head pressed against your skin with your hand to the back of his neck, curling into the hair there. 

God, you had missed this. The warmth of his body against yours, the heavy length of his hardness scraping against your walls, the bliss that it pulled from the pit of your stomach. You arched into him, his arm anchoring you to him on the small of your back. 

It didn’t take long for either of you to finish. You cried out, hand tightening in his hair as he buried himself inside you, deep and deliberate, hips rolling just right. The pleasure washed over you in waves, and your body shook as you came undone beneath him. He twitched inside you soon after, spilling hot liquid into you as he groaned in your ear.

Your breathing was beginning to slow when he pulled out of you. He moved to pull his pants back on, but you stopped him-- this night was far from over, and you were just beginning. He shot you a cocky grin, and then pulled you on top of him with one arm.

“How’s your arm feeling now?”

You kissed his sternum, feeling his heartbeat beneath your lips. “Still broken Anakin.”


End file.
